


Monsoon

by Cuda (Scylla)



Category: Fast and the Furious Series
Genre: Brian and Mia Have a Kid, F/M, Fast and Furious Fic Meme, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-22
Updated: 2012-06-22
Packaged: 2017-11-08 07:51:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/440917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scylla/pseuds/Cuda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brian has duties to fill. Dom's there for backup.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Monsoon

**Author's Note:**

> Written to fill a prompt for the [Fast & Furious Fic Meme](http://ceares.dreamwidth.org/391.html) last year. Just now getting around to posting it here.

The monsoon season rolled in on the fin of a black Dodge Challenger.

Brian leaned against the porch railing while Dom walked slowly up the gravel path. His gaze - like Dom's, was tentative and flickering; expression equally blank.

The skies opened well before Dom made it to the safety of the porch. He glanced across his shoulder at the sliding hiss of rain coming up the road, then loped the last few steps to the safety of the porch roof. The air radiated with tension when his square frame blotted the wan afternoon sun. He shuffled closer, then stopped as if confused, and Brian knew that if his arms weren't full Dom would be around him tighter than the choke of humidity.

Brian felt like an ass, standing in blank silence and avoiding Dom's eyes, waiting for Dom to find words for both of them. Ironic, it was usually the other way around; ironic as surviving a neverending hail of gunfire from LA to Rio, only to lose Mia in a sterile hospital room--

"How you been?" Dom's low voice cut across Brian's thoughts. The frigid white-and-green room slid from his mind and Dom filled it, scented of rain and metal and tropical humidity. He closed the space between them while Brian had been preoccupied, moving like a predator, or one of those television horse whisperers. Brian knew he looked panicked. The glazed, staring expression seemed permanently molded to his face, like a mask he couldn't peel off. ...When he _looked,_ which was generally only to shave.

"We're good," Brian replied, realizing dazedly that he'd started saying 'we,' and how long ago had he started doing that? He only noticed now because of the moment of confusion that followed as he struggled to remember who still existed in the word.

Dom's focus shifted from Brian to Donna, the weight of his regard almost tangible. While he was distracted, Brian sneaked a lingering glance of his own. Dom's expression seemed incongruously gentle with the helpless adoration usually reserved for Mia alone. His eyes were hungry, but he remained still, thick hands spread at his sides. With prescience born of experience, Brian knew Dom would never ask to hold Donna. It was for not knowing _how_ to ask, rather than not wanting to, so he took the step forward to push her little warm body into Dom's arms.

The arms came up around Donna, cradling and dwarfing her. When Brian felt the lack of her weight, he wanted her back with a flash of possessiveness and desperation that pissed him off. Deliberate, he turned away to open the screen door. Rain thundered on the porch roof and cascaded over the railing in loose sheets, making conversation difficult. Brian beckoned, held the door.

Dom ignored him. Didn't even look up. Trained federal agents and hitmen couldn't sneak up on this dude, but hand him his niece and he wouldn't notice if Hobbs strolled over in neon go-go boots. For the first time in over a month, Brian remembered what a real smile felt like. He stretched out to touch Dom's arm. "Yo. C'mon..."

Brian didn't touch Dom much - gently, anyway. Everything between them was abrupt and almost violent, from handclasps to hugs to gut punches. Laying his fingers on the warm, bare dampness of Dom's forearm was almost too intimate to deal with, even so brief. "--rain's gonna start blowing in a minute," he finished. At the touch, Dom seemed to remember he wasn't alone. He followed Brian indoors.

**

They caught up over a beer apiece and grudgingly took turns holding Donna like two little boys at armistice over the only Tonka truck. Already deep in habitual grooves, Brian cared for Donna without much difficulty - even (God help him) _changed_ her with Dom watching silently from the couch. Since he was such a shitty host, Brian let Dom have the more pleasant of the routines and handed him a warmed bottle of formula. It definitely wasn't the _first_ baby he'd fed, Brian observed, relieved that he didn't have to explain to him about air bubbles and risk the glare he'd get when he inferred that Dom might be _doing it wrong._

The weak daylight gave over into night early with the progressing storm, and Brian snapped on lamps as he made his way to the kitchen with Donna's empty bottle. When he returned to the living room, however, he paused before entering. Dom seemed to have gotten the knack of holding the baby how she preferred being held, and snugged her into the bend of his right arm. The fingers of his left hand touched, gently, rooting Brian to the spot as they examined Donna's tiny hands and fingernails. Then, with a small sound as if he'd remembered something important, Dom shifted her until her chest rested against the front of his shoulder. While Brian watched, Dom rubbed her back in slow, soothing circles.

Brian didn't want to spoil it, didn't want to _breathe,_ but he had to eventually. If Dom had seen him watching, he said nothing.

Destined as she was to become a woman of seemingly endless patience, even Donna had her limits. She let her menfolk know in no uncertain terms when she was tired of their company. Brian felt miserable that she was fussy and knew it shouldn't bother him but it did and he _hated_ that. Donna was all that was left of Mia. Dom would think he was failing at this. The part of himself he kept tightly guarded these days - the part that craved the firefights and adrenaline - was damned determined he wouldn't fail, _not_ in front of Dom.

Brian felt Dom's eyes on his back as he lowered the rail and bent over Donna's crib. Brian looked back when he straightened but didn't invite Dom over, just looked. Just, _looked,_ half defiant, demanding Dom's approval. There was nobody else. In answer, Dom tipped his head, smiling in uncertain fragments.

Something between them loosened, something firm since their first meeting. Everything was over. They didn't have to be those people for now. There was no Letty, no Mia to see. No crew to spot a weakness and dart in for the kill. No danger. So gradual as to not even notice the movement, Brian stepped into Dom and Dom let him. Again, the gesture was too gentle, and the alienness of it carved him open with the heat of a propane torch.

The white-and-green hospital room returned in a rush. Mia's face turned toward him, still. Her dark lashes, her high cheekbones. The slimness of her in jeans, the round promise of her belly. The way she measured her words, and the comfort in her touch. It hadn't always been good, but oh, God, it was _over._

Dom let him be. He said nothing, and when it was over he walked Brian to bed with the same easy confidence he did everything else. Brian turned over, away. He heard the shift of fabric and creak of wood as Dom took custody of the armchair on the opposite wall.

"I _got_ this, Dom," Brian said fiercely, berating himself for being such an _utter._ _Total._ **_Chickenshit._** "I'm not gonna--"

Dom made a noise; a low rumble in his chest like a backbuilding storm. "Go to sleep, O'Conner."

"You _know_ \--"

" _Brian._ Let it go."

Brian let it go. Rain shook down on the roof and splashed the windows in a constant white wall of sound.

He slept.

**

Two hours later, Donna woke them both. By now the downpour outside had sifted into the background like the rustling of radio interference. Brian sat up blearily in the near dark, shaken from an almost dead sleep by her cries. He snapped on the bedside lamp, shuffled across the narrow hall, and ran through the checklist of things they'd given him at the hospital. Funny how his crying baby daughter had a lot in common with fixing a car. And then in some ways, she didn't. A persistent rattle had a reason when it showed up on a Nissan. Babies, he learned, cried on their own schedule and rarely turned up a loose bolt as explanation.

Donna's checklist... checked out fine. Brian leaned heavily on the head of the crib, rubbing Donna's stomach with his fingertips because it was all he could think of and it had worked once. Dom loomed briefly in the doorway but Brian glared at him with all the energy he had left. Dom shuffled away, palms out in amused surrender. A few minutes later, the kitchen faucet hissed faintly. The little, homely sound of someone else in the house almost broke Brian all over again, but God help him, he got a damned _grip_ before things went to shit.

It took almost an hour before Donna forgot what she'd been so upset about. With the easy abstraction of exhaustion, Brian thought maybe she dreamed about being inside Mia still, and now she woke up afraid. He hoped she'd forget soon. They couldn't put her back.

Dom was waiting in the doorway when Brian turned to leave. He got out of the way, then followed Brian back into the bedroom and sat down in the armchair. Brian eased down onto the side of the bed, slow as a man twice his age. "What're we doing, Dom?" he asked, voice congested with the afternoon's grief, "I don't know what the hell I'm doing anymore. I mean, other than take care of her, I don't know."

After a long silence, Dom gave his head a quick shake. He slouched, the lamplight casting his eyes into shadow. "I don't have a plan for this one."

Brian closed his eyes. When there was no plan, even a bad one, that was it. He knew.

"But that's Mia's blood in there," Dom continued, low, so rough he should've coughed gravel, "my blood, your blood. She's the most important thing in the world now. We gotta keep eyes on her," he added, running a slow hand over his bald head, "I ain't leaving."

Relief bathed Brian in a surge of cool adrenaline, then receded. That was a statement, not a question or an offer. He nodded shortly, almost eagerly. Anxiety at the prospect of Dom's eventual departure receded. Life had a way of screwing up even the best-laid plans for them, and he knew there was no guarantee. But that was okay, somehow, so long as Dom stayed for now. "You know I'm in," Brian said, cracking a bare smile.

The right corner of Dom's lips tugged up. "I know you're in, O'Conner." He tipped his head, gesturing loosely towards the empty bed and rumpled sheets. "Go back to sleep."

But Brian couldn't sleep. Rain lashed the house, the ceiling fan turned with a low electric hum, but he'd hit the edge of 'too tired to sleep' and now could only lie awake, thinking awful things. They got bad and he felt himself starting to freeze over numb, and then the bed dipped in the dark and Brian became acutely aware of Dom's presence.

"You up?" Dom asked.

"Yeah," Brian said.

"Heh, yeah. Thought so." And suddenly the extra weight depressing the mattress was a man's body, close enough to Brian's to touch. For a moment it was weird, awkward, and Brian almost moved away until he breathed in the mixed scents of skin, sweat and metal. Brian remembered afternoons in the Toretto garage in LA, working so close to Dom that their bare, damp shoulders touched. He remembered _willing_ Dom to turn around behind the screen at the grocery store; to look at him. He remembered leaning on Dom's back, his shoulders, too wounded and broken to notice the comfort there until later. He was fascinated, his heart did circus tricks around the guy, and he couldn't walk away from Dom, not even when it would have saved his job and his life in America. He remembered how he felt, seeing Dom holding his daughter.

Brian realized he'd been half in love with Dom all along. Maybe he just hadn't noticed because he'd gotten so used to calling it other things; using it to his advantage. He was still a damned good liar, and sometimes even Brian couldn't escape his own talents.

Dom apparently already knew. No big surprise; it was _Dom._

A broad, warm hand settled cautiously on his stomach. That was just too slow, too much, and Brian snatched a hand around Dom's bicep, yanking him almost viciously forward. Dom got the picture and stopped trying to wait him out, and after that it got better, much easier to handle. The dark surrounded and protected Brian, offering the anesthesia he needed to survive this first blast. It was _still_ awkward, but... not as much as he'd expected. They fumbled articles of clothing off of one another a piece at a time, kissed and licked and _tasted._ The night blurred into touch, scent and taste with a backdrop of breath and rain.

There was a lot of Dom to hold onto, and Brian took advantage of it, fingertips denting Dom's skin at his shoulders, back, and hips. When the breadth of Dom's chest pushed down on his, Brian just... stopped thinking. For the few more moments he had left before climax, his frantic, razor brain went blissfully dark.

Brian tucked it all away, for later, to figure out. But - as he supposed was Dom's intent all along - he was too tired to look through it just then. Too exhausted to feel guilty. Dozing beside - but not quite touching - Dom in the aftermath, Brian realized he was wrong. Mia would always be in the 'we.' The Forever 'we.'

The cereal-in-the-morning, the sitting-on-the-porch, the wondering-how-the-hell-we're-still-alive 'we,' that was him and Donna.

And now, for as long as it lasted, Dom.

**Author's Note:**

> The baby's name is "Donna," because it's Italian for 'woman,' and not fancy or weird, and NOT LETTY, because every time I tried to name her Leticia I felt like an ass for no reason I could specifically reason out.


End file.
